I Hate Everything About You
by SharpiesInAGayRainbow
Summary: Maybe that's just your Hollister cologne." "Maybe your eye-liner's too thick." They were supposed to be mortal enemies... FOR BLUE FUNK. love.


_FOR BLUE FUNK. Cause she's made of win, and does it for the lolz._

_DO A BARRELROLL, DARLING!_

**Mortal Enemies.**

It was supposed to be a normal day on the bus route to school. I was not about to ride the big, obtrusive, school designated bus. Hell no! Only kids under grade _five_ and nerds rode _that_.

But public transit was far from any better. Especially when the old lady across from you has the voice to make a harpy jealous, the bus driver can't see his hands on the steering wheel in front of him, the bum six seats down smells rank and is sharing his mouldy sandwich with a hoard of flies, and one certain obnoxious, "unique" kid comes on and decides it's his civic duty to make your life a living hell, takes you right to the very devil himself, and then...

"Hey, Roxas! Why are you beat red all of a sudden?"

Oh boy was that a story...

I was content riding public transit. Sure, I often beat myself later for it because some middle-aged crack-pot actually convinced me that she had cooties, but I was content. It was better than sitting in the cramped school bus listening to some guys two years older than you school some third grader in everything Sponge-what's-his-face. Insert massive shudder and dry retching _convulsions_ here.

I was, at that fateful point in time, examining my shoe for the cause of my poor big toe's irritation. And then _he_ got on.

He was in the group of people my friends and I were **loathe** to even walk past without sparing an evil glare. If you were getting into stereotypical generalizations, my group were the BBB&BBPs. Oh yeah. Rolls of the tongue, eh? The Bleach Blonde Bimbos and Blitz Ball Players. Of course, I was not the one to follow the norm of my group. I was sensible and smart. And just happened to be a good blitzballer as well.

He, however, followed his groups stereotype to the _t_. He waltzed in with his "unique" bright, catch-your-eye-any-where red, totally-adds-two-inches spikes of hair. And what did he do? His striped hoodie matched. It was black and blood red. The tank he was wearing underneath this was black with some freakish design on it, the letters FFTL barely distinguishable from the majority of the obscure illustration. His belt had an inhumanly huge buckle, boasting the words "Velvet Revolver" cleverly shaped like a revolver, – creative – which held his tight, _tight_, so tight black pants he probably wouldn't be fathering children in the future. These were tucked into the shin-high black and red high-top Converse All-Stars. He was one of _them_.

The "Arts-y" group. The "Creative" group.

I'll tell you what we called them. The Emo Freaks.

So where did he decide to sit? Beside me. Me! Oh, I'd show him...

"Hey, blondie. Put your shoe back on, it smells like the south end of a pig in here anyway. Or maybe that's your Hollister cologne." He quipped. Bastard!

"Maybe your eye-liner's too thick, but there are several other places to sit." I shot back.

He lifted a black brow, leaning in. Ha! The fool's hair was dyed! "Did that bleach leech into what's left of your brain? Would you wanna sit beside Old Mrs. Screech or Smelly McHomeless? No? There you go, your question's answered." Another inch closer.

"I'll have you know that my hair is natural." I said, crossing my arms. "Unlike yours. And what are those, colour contacts?" I asked of his eerily green eyes. Closer.

He batted his feminine long lashes and scoffed. "Do eyes this sexy need enhancement?" Closer the entire time.

"Why don't you toot your horn a little louder, I don't think Mrs. Screech heard you." I snorted.

He leaned over. Dude, had this guy not heard of the "personal bubble"? "What's your name, blondie?" He hissed.

I scowled. "Why should I tell you? Take a wild guess." I challenged, looking for an escape route.

"Are you... Roxas Koumi, in grade Ten, with a not-so-secret secret?" He asked, searching my face. Great, so even the freaks knew.

"You just won Clue! Congratulations." I said ungratefully. I didn't need the entire school knowing I was gay. Although, telling Selphie was probably my first mistake. She seemed to have this problem with keeping that fat mouth of hers _shut_. "And you're Axel Tachizen. Victory lapping graduate, the one who knocked up every girl who ever left the school."

He scowled now. "No. Not true. I only... Only Larxene. And that was a mistake." He wasn't looking me in the eye. And something in those green ones of his... God! I don't even know.

"Hey, whatever. I don't even believe those rumours." Don't believe them... I started them! "Look at me?" I whispered, by now realizing that I was completely insane.

I still don't know what it was. But damn! I just... Shit! I looked at him, and I saw the one guy I always pictured when I was contemplating being gay. I don't even know! God... Shit! _Fuck_.

And then, suddenly, he was kissing me. Not just an innocent "oh-it-was-just-the-right-time" peck kind of kiss. He was sucking my face! So, says my brain, let's retaliate! And, logical thinking, I bit his lip. What I wasn't expecting...

Was finding my tongue shooting into his mouth before I could stop it.

I was playing tonsil hockey with my mortal _enemy_! What was wrong with this picture?!

I hadn't realized I was short of breath. "Hey blondie. It's our stop."

"If you know my name, use it, dammit." I said, wiping my mouth.

"Well, _Roxas_, will I see you at your lunch break?"

I knew now that I was in too deep, and I was already drowning without realizing the water had even been over my head. "Yeah." I said, rolling my eyes. "Yeah you will, Axel."

He looked left then right, then pecked me on the lips. "See you then." Then winked.

I was drowning, and I loved it.

siagr;


End file.
